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“So, you read Tale of the Champion. Ever read any of my other books?”
Wil Trevelyan was glad for the interruption from elfroot clipping; his neck was beginning to cramp. Still, he grimaced, and not because of the pain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shoved a pile of herbs into his pack.
“Sorry, but no.”
“Don’t make that face, I’m not offended." Varric chuckled. "I know my work’s not for everyone. Sometimes, even I don’t like it.”
“Ah, so you do have some taste,” Cassandra interjected. “Or should I say shame?” She handed Wil a pile of clipped herbs and he shot her a grin. The Seeker met his eyes but didn’t react.
Varric observed the interaction with a bemused expression. “Our Herald’s always got his nose in some book or another. I just thought I’d see which ones.”
Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “The Herald has nobler pursuits than the seedy underworld dealings of Kirkwall.”
“Just like you, eh Seeker?” Varric chided. Cassandra’s nostrils flared and she did not reply, but she stole a quick glance at Wilhelm.
“Hey, I was practically raised in a library. I’ve read my share of smut.” His companions both raised eyebrows at this, Cassandra in surprise and Varric in delight. “No offense to your work, Varric.”
“None taken, Herald.”
Wil groaned. “Would you both just call me Wilhelm? I’d ask you to call me Wil, but that would just be ridiculous.”
“I will consider it,” was Cassandra’s stiff reply.
“Sorry,” said Varric. “You’re the Herald. It just fits.”
But Wil didn’t have time to protest. Solas, who had been collecting iron deposits on a nearby hill, called out to them.
“Rebel mages!”
Will drew his daggers and darted for cover. He cloaked himself, keeping his eyes on Cassandra as she charged in shield first. Her nod would be nigh imperceptible, and his fingers twitched in anticipation.
There it was. She stunned a pair of mages, tilting her head right as she charged left, and Wil dove in for the kill.
Maker forgive him, but he loved seeing the shocked faces when he came out of the shadows. The shocked mage was offset, but Wil’s strike only met with a magical barrier.
The mage only had a dull staff blade for close range fighting, and Wil charged through the apostate’s body for a devastating hit. It would have been perfect, were it not for the other mage. More specifically, the fireball the other mage shot at him.
The last thing he heard before he went down in flames was a shout from Cassandra. All in all it wasn't a bad way to go, because it almost sounded like she said “Wil.” But then there was darkness.
Wil was on the ground. At least the lack of a splitting headache meant he had avoided hitting his head this time. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Varric’s broken nose.
“He’s up!” Varric called. “See, you’re lucky The Herald stuck, otherwise I’d have to call you Teacake or Soufflé.”
“Hey, my tutor only covered dealing hits.” Wil grinned and sat up. “She never got around to the part about taking them.”
“That’s why Bianca and I keep our distance.”
Cassandra approached and cleared her throat, addressing Wil. “If you would like to spar when we return to Haven, I can help you with that.”
Wil’s heart jumped at the thought. “Really? Would you mind?”
“Of course not. Now can you stand?” Cassandra extended her arm and he took it. She pulled him up with ease.
He tried not to let the Seeker see him falter once he was on his feet without her support, but there was no use pretending. “I’ll definitely take you up on those lessons.”
“Excellent.” Cassandra wore a half-smile, and Wil felt the need to brush the soot from his singed clothing as she watched. “Perhaps Solas could assist us by providing fireballs for you to dodge?”
“I would be delighted,” said the mage.
Wil looked to Solas in mock offense, then back to Cassandra. “Wait a second…are you trying to help or do you just want to hit me?”
"Why can't it be both?” she asked, still smiling.
“While we’re at it, you could stand a lesson in dodging poison arrows,” Varric added, patting Bianca.
Wil put his unmarked palm to his forehead and sighed. Maybe he deserved the ridicule. It was his fault for being so careless. “Let’s just go back to camp. We're out of poultices.”
After collecting their spoils, the group headed back towards their camp in the Outskirts.
Wil took the lead. Behind him, Varric and Solas were discussing Varric’s books, while Cassandra brought up the rear in silence. Wil looked over his shoulder at her, his mind drifting back to the battle. He slowed his pace to walk next to her, letting Varric and Solas go ahead.
“Cassandra, before I fell, I heard you say something. What was it?” If Wil wasn’t so used to watching her combat cues, he might not have noticed her shoulders stiffen.
“I do not remember.”
“Are you sure?” Wil looked at her sideways. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Varric and Solas were now listening. “Because it sounded like my name.”
“You were delirious,” Cassandra replied.
“Oh, come on.” Wil looked to the others; Solas would be no help. “Varric?”
“Not touching this one, Soufflé.”
Wil heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine, you win. Herald it is,” he mumbled. But before he reassumed the lead, he caught sight of Cassandra laughing to herself. The fleeting urge to nurse his pride seemed a silly thing when the sunlight was so bright.